The Origin of the Ghost Writer
by Pseudinymous
Summary: The night of my sister's 21st birthday was the night it happened; every sanity-twisting, mind-numbing bit of it. It shaped who I am today and single-handedly destroyed my life in front of me. All I could do in response was try to pick up some of the pieces... [GW-Centric, Obviously]
1. When Everything Was Normal

**Author's Note:  
**Yay, another rewrite! Also, as a beginning note, I'd like to make it clear that it is very definitely ME who owns the account MoonlightUmbreon, and that I was the original writer of this story... the conception of which was over _four years ago_. I say this because I recently saw a fic that... well, maybe not directly "copied", but _suspiciously heavily borrowed _from the oldest rendition. You know who you are - if you're reading this, hint hint, I'm not particularly happy. I won't be taking any action or confronting you about it, but trust me, I'm watching you. :( Please do not let it happen again; it's not so much the stolen idea as the fact that you didn't care enough about me to respect what I've written.

Either way, coincidence had it that I'd started "reconditioning" this fic the weekend before I discovered that. Everything has been pre-written, and updates will come through every few days, as I edit. It totals at just over 10K words and will be split into three parts. Also, it's written to perhaps be a little more amusing than its rather old and dusty renditions. I'm not the angsty sad-sack I used to be, thank God. :P

Hope you enjoy, kids. :) Sorry about the lack of updates lately, I did the NaNoWriMo and that took out all my time. We're going back to normal now, however!

**Blanket Disclaimer of Imperviousness:**  
Pseudinymous covered herself in a potentially-impervious blanket displaying the words "I do not own Danny Phantom or Related Characters!". So far it seems to be working.

* * *

**The Origin of the Ghostwriter  
**A fanfic by Pseudinymous

~ **1 **~  
- _When Everything Was Normal_ -

* * *

I suppose the best way to begin this is with her; Marietta.

Mary was my younger sister and only remaining sibling, way back when. We lived together with our parents, the girl being five years younger than I. That fateful day was the day of Mary's twenty-first birthday, and this is where our story starts.

Mary was holding a party in celebration of the event; a raucous and somewhat alcohol-fuelled disco in her own home – one that she would never be completely satisfied with, but nevertheless promised to be a lot of fun. The entire afternoon beforehand had thus become dedicated to decorating and catering for the entire celebration, something that mum and dad were all-too happy to do for her special day. I too found myself climbing up the ladder and sticking streamers over the roof; she was a good sister, considering how most other sets of siblings fought and squabbled, so I considered this a sign of my gratitude. Too many others would have been intent on being annoying, disruptive ratbags, but not her – a sort of mutual understanding occurs when the both of you are artists.

I hadn't even finished helping to decorate the room when the guests started rolling in, some early and others quite late. I'd probably have been done had I not left her birthday present until the very last minute, but I sighed and persisted, observing as the attendance grew. Always I would wait for Randy to show up at events like these, but he never did. Our half-brother had gone missing three years previously, and it had long ago been accepted that he was never coming back... no matter how much we continued to hope otherwise.

In the end, I counted something like nineteen guests before losing track and giving up, as all the heads milled about the ladder. The last streamer was up and I stepped down, taking the ladder back out to the garage where it would be safe (and unlikely to cause serious injury to a group of very childish post-teens under the influence of alcohol).

The party only really began to get started after I returned, however, and it didn't take long at all for the drinks to start getting passed around – even our underage twin cousins received one helping of beer each. I myself was nursing a glass of scotch that probably could have used a bit more cola, although I didn't really care. One of Mary's friends – I think Helen was her name – put everyone else to shame, however. Before my parents could notice or stop her, she'd already downed five more-than-decent sized glasses of champagne. It didn't seem to come to anyone's attention until the swagger in her step became particularly large, and she was sent to Mary's room to lie down and sleep off the approaching headache.

I watched all this with an air of amusement, the slightest of smiles gracing the side of my mouth as I leaned on the wall in a corner, swilling my scotch. I had no intention of getting drunk tonight, the memory of the one and only hangover I'd ever had still clear in my mind. At one point my sister urged me to join in a bit more, but these weren't _my_ friends and in any case I'd always been a quiet person. Relatively happy where I was, I continued to simply observe.

Nine o'clock slipped to ten, and as the old grandfather clock gonged, the legendary cutting of the cake was held. Mary, having had slightly too much to drink, didn't even think to hesitate; she dived right in, knife in hand, and drove its point through the iced surface and spongy innards. The cake was cut right through to the very bottom, to her own detriment.

See, the thing you must know about Mary's friends is that they were a particularly childish bunch, even when completely sober. So when they discovered that the bottom of the cake had been reached, they were going to have her kiss the closest boy regardless of what either participant thought of the unfortunate matter. I just happened to be the _other _participant.

"Mary, you cut to the bottom!" Anne gasped, a broad and playful grin spreading across her face. "Come on, you know what that means-" Mary and I cringed in between her sentence "-Kiss time!"

We stared at each other, not tearing our eyes away for quite a bit longer than just a few seconds. Mary's face transformed from a pout into something fiendishly angry, teeth clenched and fists shaking. "Hey, this is sick!" she began, pointing vehemently at Anne. "Writer's my _brother_, for heaven's sake!"

In amongst the disarray, my mind noted how odd it was that no one I knew ever really used my actual name. Probably had something to do with that insatiable appetite for written words, I guess... Nonetheless, as I pondered this for a moment the debate roared onwards. I decided that maybe I should at least have a say, as well.

"I agree with her," I cut in, flatly unimpressed. "I'm not really into the whole incest thing, to be honest."

The guests were suffice to say _unsatisfied _with our reaction; like bloodthirsty vampires, they weren't going to stop until they got what they wanted. A chant broke out among them – "_Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!_" – as they looked excitedly from me to my sister. She shot them a revolted look, and began to approach. I stepped backwards.

"It'll be over in a second!" Mary hissed, but I stared at her with that what-are-you-doing-don't-touch-me expression, begging her to go against the crowd and stop.

Unfortunately, as much as I loved her, she was a little weak-minded. She half-complied, grabbing me by the shoulders to hold me still and giving me a completely meaningless brush on the cheek.

"There, is that enough for you _sick _people?!" she hollered, glaring and waggling her finger at the crowd in general, threateningly. Many seemed disappointed; a kiss on the cheek? What was that? It certainly wasn't their money's worth! Nonetheless, it was indeed a kiss. "Silence? Good. 'Cause there's _no way in the world _that's happening again, got it?"

The party raved on for many more hours into the night; midnight itself came without much notice, the only thing at all placing it in conscious awareness was the masses of pizza my parents managed to get delivered. Mary, to her further detriment, decided to try an extra-spicy slice of Americano pizza. Two seconds after the first bite she was chugging the nearest can of cola, face red and eyes streaming. In my little corner, I tried not to giggle at her adventure into foods a little less bland than what we were used to.

It was four in the morning when just five of us were left – Mary, her friend Julie (who had declared she was staying the night), my parents and I. Having finally died down, the party left a tangled mess of torn streamers, party poppers and junk food all over the floor, but it was something the family had collectively decided could be stressed about in the morning. The thought of even _thinking _about cleaning up such a mess up at this hour, after all, was daunting.

I said goodnight to those who remained and plodded to my exceedingly cold second-story room. The ground floor had always been warm, and so had the first, but despite the logical idea of warmer air rising, the second floor was like walking into an arctic block of ice. Feeling a little frostbitten, I tightened my coat and dove my hands into its insulated pockets. Changing into pyjamas could wait, and possibly even be foregone until morning; part of me was currently favouring the idea of going to sleep fully dressed.

I kicked off my shoes, allowing them to land disorderly wherever physics decided was fit, and propped myself up against my pillow. A very fat notebook and an ornate custom acrylic pen lay upon my dresser, and I picked them up without hesitation despite it being such an unholy hour. The need to write, admittedly, was far greater than any need to sleep, sometimes - I suppose that was another reason they all called me Writer. In any case, I was on the second last chapter of this book and _that _was exciting. I'd come out of the precarious start, the great swampy middle, and had somehow managed to struggle all the way to the end, only remembering how fun it had been as the subplots intertwined and finally began to mingle. By this point I think every word I put down was causing a wry sort of grin to cover my face, although it's hard to remember. Such expressions are very much unconscious.

Six more pages had been immortalised in my notepad by the time that little glint of sunlight peaking over the hills caught my eye. I glanced quickly at the clock radio and then back out the window, trying in a vain attempt at denial not to believe that I'd just stayed up all night; five in the morning was not a good time to be awake. I guess I'd gotten carried away as I wrote; I'd intended fifteen minutes, not the whole damn hour. Writing was occasionally too absorbing for its own good.

The notebook and pen was placed carefully back upon my dresser, and I sunk further into a complex disarray of blankets and sheets. The light in my room was still turned on but I was too tired to be bothered getting out of bed to turn it off, and thus it remained. That was, until it started to flicker.

I looked up at my bedroom light curiously, watching as it blinked on and off and eventually went out altogether. The whole house appeared to have been plunged into a power out, although admittedly I didn't think a whole lot of it. The electricity would probably be back on by whatever obscene hour I managed to wake, so it wasn't really my concern...

... until I smelt the smoke.

It wasn't until my nose picked it up that I spotted a thin layer of it hanging around the ceiling. I twisted my neck to see the door, observing a thin layer puffing through the top – my brain didn't even immediately connect it with fire. But when it did, my first reaction was to grab my notebook and run for the door. What I opened it up to wasn't something I wanted to see.

The common room greeted me with a wall of flames, filling the air with ash-black smoke. Panic shivered through my spine, but I still had enough of my wits to try and escape; I bolted to the stairs, avoiding numerous spot-fires along the way, silently praying to just about every god and angelic being I knew the name of. As if Satan himself had heard the cry for help, however, that very set of stairs and my only safe way down collapsed in on itself right in front of me.

Terrified, I ran back to my room and tore the window open, an icy breeze blowing straight in. The roof above my head creaked and strained, and the floor below became rickety and unstable as the floorboards holding it together started coming loose. Every second that flew by... more panic flooded through my veins, a fear that I would never see the ones I held close ever again.

It made me happy, however, when I stuck my head out the side of the window and spotted my sister and parents on the lawn, all screaming at me to get down. It wasn't exactly an option, then, so I screamed back. "I can't!" I yelled. "The stairs are gone! Do you have the ladder down there?!"

Maybe it was a long shot. But when a long shot was the only thing stopping you from getting burnt to a crisp, you tried it.

"It's in the garage somewhere!" Mary screamed back. "I'll go get it!"

Had I been within arm's length, I would have slapped my sister senseless. But I wasn't, and as she ran back inside to fetch the object of my safety I almost could have killed her. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" I called, but no one seemed to hear. My mother, of course, screamed and dashed straight after her, straight into the burning building.

Really, there was no time for ripping hair out, but on a metaphorical level I was doing just that. My dad did not follow them, however – instead he looked straight up at me. "You're going to have to jump! If they get too far in the fire might stop them from getting back out!"

I looked downwards; a three story drop awaited me. Suddenly the ground seemed so much further away than it ever had before, even though I'd never had a fear of heights. I couldn't help but play it over in my head, and the conclusion was not pretty; serious injury and possibly even death awaited a fall like that...

But I didn't have any other choice. The smoke was getting to my head even with the open window, and as I sagged my notebook slipped out of my grasp. To his detriment, my dad ran to pick it up from the ground, dangerously close to the burning garage. The sick explosion as he got there made my eyes water and my heart burn. Numerous gas bottles had been stored inside, but obviously they were no more; my dad, as well as the rest of the ground floor, became engulfed.

I knew what was coming next, as the fire licked my back and the house began to lean. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, I clenched my teeth, and I hoped, I hoped to everyone including Satan, that someone would come and save me and my family.

Anyone.


	2. When the World Became Unknown

**Author's Note:  
**Not much to say here. Am pretty tired right now because I couldn't sleep at all last night and then had to go to work, ughr... _ Anyway...I suppose we shall get on with it.

* * *

**The Origin of the Ghost Writer**  
A fanfic by Pseudinymous

~ **2 **~  
_- When the World Became Unknown -_

* * *

_Something _definitely wasn't right.

For one, the pain of bones breaking, sides splitting and joints being crushed had never come. And then... what was this feeling, exactly? Whatever it was, it didn't feel _right_ – perhaps, was it relief that the house didn't collapse on top of me? No, for a feeling of relief, it was a bit too odd; the whole 'a weight has been removed from my shoulders' thing probably shouldn't have been quite so literal.

No, it was more like floating in some sort of dream. Alas, my mind was still incredibly dazed, far too much to do anything about it. So I stayed where I was for a little while longer, keeping my eyes shut tightly, yearning just this once for a bit of ignorance...

And then I snapped my eyes open, because whatever it was _that wasn't normal_. My vision was greeted with dust, collapsed weather boards, debris and roofing tiles; the house beneath me was certainly not my house anymore. Not to mention, I was no more touching the ground than I was the King of England – a good few yards of nothing but air lay in the distance between my feet and the rubble of the house, because apparently floating midair was a perfectly _normal _thing to be doing.

Immediately, my mind switched into panic mode.

No breath, no heartbeat, nothing! I scrambled to find evidence of even the smallest thing; I even tried forcing myself to breathe, but in the end it became both unnecessary and uncomfortable. By now I was shaking violently, trying to think of something to say simply to hear the reassuring sound of my own voice, but nothing came to mind. My family – and Julie – however, were still hopelessly trapped beneath the house. For now I would disregard myself; they came first.

I dropped from the air, half instinctively and half completely inelegantly. I barely knew what I was doing, but a small part of my mind did, and wrestled for control with the side that argued about the impossibility of it all. In the end I landed awkwardly atop a pile of wood that wasn't far away from a decent-sized spot-fire, although on the inside my body remained cold. Resiliently, I continued to ignore all of this and began shifting wood where I thought someone might be trapped. I seemed to be getting nowhere, but damnit, it had to be done...

As I continued, I wondered if they'd left without me, trying to come up with some explanation that didn't involve serious injuries on their part. But I knew I was wrong; they never would have left without knowing I was safe. One bad topic ran into another, and I found myself wondering if they could have died, trying desperately to convince myself that the possibility was impossible. Unfortunately, it was very real, and the reality of the situation was inescapable.

A loud foghorn sounded through the misty dawn, followed by the sirens of a fire truck as it sped to the scene. Nonetheless, my poultry rescue attempt was sustained, and so I continued to dig even as the fire fighters pulled up and got their equipment and stared at me as they did so. I looked at them urgently, begging for swifter cooperation. "Please, hurry up!" I began. "There are people buried under here!"

They did exactly as they were told, if a bit hesitantly. Desperate to help in whatever small way I could, I continued to search through the rubble, calling my family's names. Never had I wished more to be able to see inside the broken remains...

"We've got one!"

My head snapped away from my work, greeted with the sight of two firemen pulling out the very lifeless form of _someone _from the other side of the destroyed house. Horrified, I clambered over the tangled mess and crashed down on the grass next to where my sister had been laid down – one of the rescue workers was already checking vital signs, and so all I could do was sit and watch, brushing my hand through volumes of beautiful (although admittedly charred) black hair.

And then the fireman stopped, and looked sadly at the poor girl's face. "I think we were a bit late for her." He said, quietly.

My mind raced from Mary to the man who had tended to her, desperately trying to think of some other solution. Mary couldn't be – no! I refused to believe it! I shook her body and opened her eyes and even checked for those same vital signs myself, but... in the end, there was nothing.

"Mary, why won't you wake up?" I begged. "Come on! Wake up! You... y-you're my sister, _you're not allowed to die_!"

In the end, it was the fireman who pulled my desperate hands away. He winced upon touch but continued anyway, until I was away from her and cross-legged on the ashen grass, hands resting on the ground behind me so I could still sit upright. He could not remove my eyes from her, however, until he spoke to me directly.

"What _are _you?"

I broke my stare and blinked at him, then finally took a morose look at my own two hands... which were _pale _and, most importantly, _glowing_. I hadn't taken any notice before, but now it was pretty hard to ignore – and it continued, too. All the way up my arm, encompassing even the clothes I was wearing. Every inch of me glowed.

"I don't know!" I cried, suddenly. "I don't know what's going on, I don't know what started the fire, but the one thing I _do _know is that my family's still buried under there and I can't just _sit _here and-!"

"Calm down!" the fireman urged, edging away. "It'll be alright; we'll... we'll get them!"

The fear emanating from the man was amazingly strong – in hindsight, I somewhat regret losing control for just those few moments, but the situation was understandably stressful. When he left, he didn't just leave, he _bolted _towards the house, out to help one of his team members put out the rest of the spot-fires. All I felt able to do was creep back towards Mary, reaching out with that very unnatural hand of mine. She used to giggle and laugh when I brushed her cheek like that, back when she was very young. Now, however, she was silent, unmoving.

"Gods, I'm so sorry..." I whispered to the lifeless form, as if she were still conscious enough to hear. "I shouldn't have said anything about the ladder. I should have just... you would have been okay if I didn't say anything..."

It took me a few minutes before I could tear my eyes away from her. The rescue team was working quickly and resiliently, but not nearly as quickly as they could have been working had they not needed to stop and glance over at me every so often. Most seemed worried and somewhat jumpy... the solution appeared to be leaving the premises.

But that meant I wouldn't get to find out the fate of the rest of my family for some time. Still... if it meant that things could move quicker, then I was willing.

... Besides, I knew of one person – and one person alone – who I could go to. He'd always been willing to help me, regardless of the circumstances, and right now that was something I desperately needed. He was the sort that could solve anything, or at least provide better condolences than anyone else I knew.

I just hoped this wasn't too much.

The simple act of walking away from my own house was unbelievably difficult. As if in one of those dreams where you were prevented from running, my legs just didn't want to move. Each step felt like wading through the thickest of tars, a step towards something I didn't want. But as the firefighters continued to stare, I forced my glued-together legs onwards anyway and was simply thankful that it was too early in the morning for anyone else to be about, yet.

In my mind, very much secondary to the fate of those I held dear, was my own frightening state. I didn't know what had happened to me, but _something _definitely had; how else did I manage to spontaneously gain such pale grey skin and such a ghostly aura?

... How else could I have been floating?

I put my hand to my shoulder, squeezing just to check that it was real. The bone structure underneath seemed to be quite a lot more _pliable _than I remembered, even though I still had no hope of hyper-extending the joints. My body had become a mystery during the space of about five minutes, when I'd been unconscious...

_Maybe it's not your body._ Said an unwelcome voice in my head. _Maybe you're-_

I shoved that voice backwards, into obscurity. Denial was the best medicine, I decided.

Even more impossible, however, was the notion that Mary, my beloved little sister, had... died. She was too important to me, and she'd just turned twenty-one! She was at the cusp of her life and then it had been taken out from underneath her, mercilessly. She just _couldn't _have died, everything had to be okay! She'd be... revived in hospital. That's what would happen!

As the sun began to rise up a little further in the sky, it became much more than just a glint. By that time I was already well on my way to Rick's house, thankful that the man had always been an early-bird. Always up at the crack of dawn – five in the morning, every morning – Rick really wasn't much of a sleeper, anyway; honestly he would've made a good surgeon keeping hours like that. Rick and I could be traced back years, all the way to elementary school – maybe he wouldn't strictly be able to _help _in this situation, but what I needed most right now was the companionship.

When I got there I didn't knock on the front door. As I'd always done, in order to avoid waking his parents at obscene hours of the morning, I went around the back and tapped on his bedroom windowsill. Being the only one who did that, he knew exactly who it was. "Rick, open up!" I called.

"Mmm!" called Rick, probably through a mouthful of toast. I waited patiently for him to tear open the curtain, but he was probably taking a minute to finish his breakfast. Today, however, I wasn't willing to wait. I pressed my hands to the windowsill, my mind only on the topic of getting in, and began to push it up. Unfortunately, I found it to be locked...

... And then I was inside Rick's bedroom, sprawled on the floor. An incredibly strange feeling had poured through me, and indeed it was still pooling in my feet. I looked back at them to discover they were still phasing through the bedroom wall, and to my general horror I pulled them straight out.

Meanwhile, Rick's toast had slipped straight out of his fingers, his mouth hanging agape. "_What_ in the name of every religious deity happened to _you_?!"

I looked up, sheepishly. My glasses had fallen off in the confusion, and apparently I no longer needed them to see more than a foot in front of my face. Nonetheless, I reached out to grab them and replaced them to their rightful place atop my nose, because my glasses had long ago become an integral part of my appearance and 20/20 vision wasn't going to change that.

"Writer... what's going on?" he insisted. "You just fell _through _my bedroom wall! _Something's _going on!"

"... Mary's-" I managed, barely, then decided I wasn't ready to complete that sentence. "The house caught fire and the whole damned _thing _collapsed on top of us! The firefighters are still searching through the wreckage... when I left they still hadn't found anyone else."

"You're having me on." Said Rick instantly, even if the uncertainty was only too clear in his voice. "This isn't real. _None _of it! It's not even logical for a start – what sort of trickery are you using? It's one of Mary's sick jokes, isn't it?!"

I stared at the man as I got unsteadily to my feet, noting that they were quite a lot more tangible than when they'd been held somewhere in between the wall. Was he serious? How could Rick even _think _that in a time like this? He knew full-well I'd never joke about such a thing, and that Mary's jokes were cruel stints I rarely participated in any way!

No... it wasn't quite that sort of disbelief, actually. It was almost like the same denial I'd been trying to delude myself with...

"I'm not using anything, Rick." I said, carefully. "... When they found Mary, it was... already too late."

Rick's face was becoming paler by the moment. "What about _you_? ... Gods, why on _Earth _do you look like that?"

That was where the silence came in. I glanced down at myself and observed my bizarre appearance for the umpteenth time since I'd gained it, that sinking feeling once again overcoming me. The fact that I'd just intangibly fallen through a wall was only redoubling suck sick suspicions...

"The last thing I remember is the house coming down on top of me." I muttered. "I was still trapped inside when that happened. It's crazy, but I don't need to breathe, I have no pulse-"

"Give me your wrist." Rick demanded, suddenly. He had a way with commands – when he asked something of you, you did it, and obediently I held my arm out. Like the fireman, he shuddered at the frigid temperature of my skin and initially pulled away, but then persisted and tried to find that essential little life sign, frantically. "Come on..." he managed. "It has to be here somewhere!"

It was, however, nowhere inside my wrist to be found. Frustrated and somewhat horrified, Rick attempted to pull me closer so he could try to find it somewhere on my neck, which under any normal circumstances would have been quite successful. Unfortunately, one side-effect of being able to float was being exceptionally light, which caused the motion to nearly throw me into a wall. Certain instincts kicked in, however, and barely prevented my face-planting straight into it.

"Be careful!" I complained, turning back to my really rather startled friend. "I don't fancy the idea of having my figure imprinted upon your plasterboard!"

"... But you're so light!" Rick exclaimed. "Look at you, you just... _how are you just floating there_?! I – get back down!"

"I wouldn't have been up here if you hadn't thrown me." I bickered, looking hesitantly at the bed beneath my feet before dropping onto it, overbalancing and falling straight into Rick's arms. "... I'm not very good at this, am I?"

"You're doing a hell of a lot better than _I _am." Rick boggled. "_Christ_, you're freezing cold, Writer... doesn't it bother you?"

"A little, I guess."

Rick sighed. "I suppose."

I took a moment to stand upright again, then stepped slowly away from Rick and towards his bedroom mirror, taking the opportunity to look carefully into the large piece of reflective glass. What stared back was quite a bit more than I'd expected; pointed ears, sharpened teeth, and above all my _eyes._ They glowed with perhaps even more luminescence than the rest of me, turned from that darkened green I'd been so fond of to an electrified shade of the same colour. Helpless, I gazed at that reflection for one or two minutes, before Rick's voice finally brought me straight back down to earth.

"... You haven't seen yourself properly before now, have you?" Rick asked, his sympathy finally showing through. "I'm... sorry. I could have taken this better."

"I'm a ghost, I didn't expect it to go down _cleanly_..." I mumbled, but Rick arched his eyebrow.

"Hey, now let's not jump to conclusions."

"This is not a jump." I stated, blankly. "This is like a step, or perhaps better yet, it's a crawl. I mean, what _else _could even have happened? I didn't even feel that house come down, not even the slightest wince of pain! It was just like, _bam_, the lights are out. And then I was floating above a debris-riddled mess. _And I fell through your window_! I think that last one should be reason enough."

"Yeah, but what if there's some other explanation?" Rick hesitated, as if he didn't really believe in his own words. "We don't know for sure..."

"Perhaps instead," I mused, pacing over to Rick's bed and falling backwards onto it as if it were my own, "I've become some sort of demon."

"You're not-"

"Really?Whynot?" I asked. "I certainly _look _like one. Honestly, I think I'd rather think of myself as a ghost. It fits better, anyhow."

Rick paced for a moment, before looking at me warily and then up at the ceiling. "Well, it's all semantics now, isn't it? It doesn't matter what it's called or even if it even has a name at all, this is just... apparently what you are."

"Joy." I drawled, joining my friend in staring up at the ceiling. "Well, whatever's going on... I wish I knew what happened to Mary..."

"Look... I'm no expert on stuff getting onto _this _level of strange." Rick admitted. "But maybe we should head back. In any case... it's difficult to swallow without seeing it all for myself."

I smiled slightly, even if it was a decidedly grim sort of expression; I'd always have one person by my side, no matter what. We were bound by the unbreakable bonds of countless childhood promises, and that was possibly one of the most comforting things to know.

My thin, frail frame slid through the open window with a bit of room to spare, although Rick was a slightly different story. He wasn't what you would call 'fat', but he certainly wasn't a rake, either, which made getting through the window a little more difficult than usual. Fortunately, with a bit of effort he made it to the other side, still clad in his pyjamas but also in a state that plainly didn't care.

Luckily it was a Sunday morning, so even by now it was a bit too early for cars to be passing by on the street. Nonetheless, I kept a paranoid eye out for even the slightest sign of even a singular person. Rick seemed to pick up on this and helped keep watch as we walked, even though ultimately we ran into no one. In the distance, smoke drifted lazily in the air.

"There really was a fire..." Rick mumbled, mostly to himself. All I did in reply was nod.

As we got closer, the smell of the smoke became steadily more intolerable, and the voices of several firemen could be heard. That was about all I could take; my feet broke out into a run without permission, until I found myself concealed behind the neighbour's fence, peaking over the top at the situation that was still unfolding. Rick ran up after me, and upon seeing the state of our house, his complexion rapidly paled almost to the point of rivalling mine.

"We've got a live one!" came the echoing call. A heart that I no longer possessed seemed to stop and catch in my throat and, clinging to the fence, I strained my eyes to see who it was. And, sure enough, out of the wreckage my father was pulled, choking, spluttering, but apart from the damaged arm otherwise unharmed.

"Dad!" I yelled, before I could even think to stop myself.


	3. When Everything Was Lost

**Author's Note:  
**Oops, turns out I'm splitting this into four parts, not three, so this isn't actually the end. Oh well! The final update will be out probably on Wednesday next week. It's a little shorter so it also might be a little earlier than that.

Also, can I say that I hate uploading stuff to FFN sometimes? Fixing formatting issues that were fine in the Word document is incredibly frustrating. DX

Oh well, on with it! :D

* * *

**The Origin of the Ghost Writer**  
A fanfic by Pseudinymous

~ **3 **~  
_- When Everything Was Lost _-

* * *

He was standing there alive, _actually alive_. I'd drawn his attention, too; calling out probably hadn't been my smartest idea, but hey, people do strange things when under stress like this. Well, perhaps the usual source of such stress isn't _exactly _this, but... well, you get the idea. Regardless I was floored, but concealed myself behind the fence quickly. I didn't _think_ I'd been seen...

"He's only your father, what are you even doing?" Rick quizzed, not making nearly as much effort to obscure himself. "You have no spine."

"Yeah, and you're not a ghost, so you can be quiet." I bit back, mind racing. "I don't want to be seen like this – not by anyone but _him_, anyway."

"I thought the firefighters had already seen you?"

"Oh yes. And that went down just _peachy_." I dryly replied, sitting down on the grass and leaning up against the fence. "Look, he's alive, and... that's enough excitement for now. If only I could just disappear for a bit..."

Rick stared down at me for a few moments, apparently in thought. "Well, you can walk _through _things, and you didn't look very solid when you fell through my window, either... why would invisibility be such a stretch – if you really _are _a ghost, shouldn't it be normal? Go on."

"Are you joking? I don't have the first idea _how_."

"It was just a suggestion..." Rick lamented.

I pulled my attention away from him, and brought it back to myself. Well, he _was _right... what sort of ghost couldn't pull off an invisibility stunt? What sort of ghost was _visible at all _to start with? I'd just have to remember what intangibility felt like, and then... imagine it was invisibility? Somehow that didn't sound right... and as I began to sink through the ground, I realised just how wrong I was.

"?! Rick, help!" I yelled, trying to grab his hand with my own intangible one, waving it about madly.

"That won't work!" he scrambled. "It's like grasping at air!"

Panicking, I did the only thing I could think of doing – floating back out of the ground. For now I was stuck being intangible, much to my own dismay. Rick was smirking at me, of course. He tilted his glasses down and looked at me over the rim of them.

"Attempts at invisibility may be less accurate than they appear."

"You're a horrible, horrible person." I glared, still floating haphazardly.

But then there were sounds – talking, possibly between one of the firemen and my father, and they were getting closer to the fence. Apparently panic and necessity were great triggers for these abilities, because Rick gave a small gasp of surprise... and then he was the only person they saw in my neighbour's entire front garden.

"Oh, Rick..." My father managed, before giving the area one last scan. "I thought I heard Writer's voice..."

Rick stared at my father for a few moments; he held his own arm tightly to his chest, but otherwise seemed more-or-less okay. "Actually... he's alright." Said Rick, with surprising conviction. "He said he'll be back here soon, just that... he had something he needed to do. I guess he'll tell you whenever he gets back."

My father's face melted into something resembling utmost relief. "Oh, thank God he escaped..."

"Yeah..."

They stood in an awkward silence for a few moments before another one of the firemen appeared around the corner, looking frantic. He attempted to spit it out three or four times before finally managing the words.

"We found another man... he looked like-"

A few urgent glances not understood by my father were exchanged between the firemen, before he promptly bolted from my father's side and back to the scene. My father ran after them, probably confused. Rick and I eventually followed, after exchanging a few of our own urgent glances.

By the time we got around the corner – or in my case through the fence, while invisible I didn't really care what I did – they were already standing around something that my father was kneeling before. I approached cautiously, and did not much like what I saw.

"You _lied_!" Dad yelled, turning his back to my body and facing Rick, eyes already streaming. "You said- ... you said!"

"He said I'd be back here soon," I interrupted, deciding that showing myself probably couldn't be delayed if I wanted to save Rick's life. The firemen jumped backwards at my sudden reappearance, although Dad could only stare. "Nothing was alluded as to my... _general wellbeing_."

Until he could find his voice, he did what we'd always called the goldfish impersonation. And then he shook, quite like I'd shaken back when I'd first woken up.

"But..." he managed, eyes darting back and forth from both my forms. "You're... you _died_, and..."

"Yeah... I'm pretty well-aware of that, right now." I managed, looking disdainfully at my own glow. "But I'm okay. That's the important thing, right?"

"Both my children are _dead_..." my father whispered, before collapsing back to his knees and trying not to sob. "It's not _fair_! I raised you two and..."

It was freaking him out more than it was freaking me – that was something I hadn't expected, but probably should have. Condolences, unfortunately, were never something I was ever good at, so thinking about how to comfort dad in a situation like _this _was lost to me. Awkwardly, I sat down next to him and leaned over until I was within his field of vision. "I'm still here, and it's not like I'm going anywhere." I said, meaning every word. "I'll be alright. I'm _okay with this_."

"You _are_?"

"Yes."

Well, that was a lie. If there was one thing in my _entire life_ that I wasn't okay with, it had to be this and the situation that caused it. I never wanted to be a ghost, I wanted to grow up like most people got to, I wanted to have a job I liked, a girlfriend... hell, even money. I couldn't do or have any of those things as I am now, and as upsetting as that was I was still going to put my father's sanity first. I could iron out the implications of my own predicament later... or, I hoped I could, anyway.

"Where's Mary?" He asked, trying to clean himself up. "Have you seen her? Is she-?"

I didn't reply, just leaned my head over in silence. He seemed to get the message, then never spoke of the topic again.

"Hey Writer..." Rick began, cutting in on the moment. "What about your mom?"

"Leanne." Dad mumbled, thinking. "They said they've taken her to hospital. Apparently her injuries were... quite severe."

"But she's alive, right?" I checked. My father nodded, if a little uncertainly.

"You should know... they think she'll fare well. The damage is bad, but not critical. She'll probably be "good as new", after some treatment..."

"And mum's tough," I reminded him. "If anyone could get through something like this, it'd be her."

Dad paused. "Yes..." he said, and then he looked over the front lawn until his eyes met with a patch that was quite severely bloodstained. "But Mary was tough, too. And so were you."

It had been a great length of metal piping that had seen me to my end, and those words seemed to wrench it even further through my chest – even if it wasn't strictly _mine_, or at least not anymore. Perhaps at this point my tearless act might seem strong or resilient... but I can tell you, I am neither such thing, not in a situation like this. Ghosts cannot cry – we are made of ectoplasm, not water, and it doesn't support such displays of emotion.

Although upon analysis of my father's state, perhaps that was a good thing.

"You lot!" One surprisingly stoic firefighter hollered. "Is there anyone else that might still be trapped?"

"Julie!" My father and I remembered, in unison. "That bedroom's in the deepest part of the house! It'll take ages to dig her out, at this rate!" I continued, leaping to my feet.

"Well, what do you propose?" asked Rick, as some of the idle firefighters began working even harder to rescue the final person. "There's nothing else we can do!"

"There's something else _I _might be able to do." I realised, suddenly. "Rick, give me your hand."

"Wait, what? Why?"

"I need to test something."

Rick looked at me cautiously, warily deciding that a lifetime full of trust wasn't going to be broken now. He gave me his hand rigidly, then tried to calm himself from suspicion. "Do what you need to do. And you're _still _freezing."

It was sort of like a power well, I theorised; I had to dredge it up to become intangible or invisible, and my hypothesis went that if I could force it into another person I might be able to replicate the same effects... or something like that. It was strangely accurate; I could turn him intangible quite effectively – much to his surprise –as long as I held on. Rick of course jumped backwards and let go.

"That was horrid!" Rick protested, flexing his hands as if making sure they were absolutely real. "Never again!"

"Doesn't matter. I know it'll work, now." I said, turning towards the house. "I can pull her out."

"Writer, what are you doing?!" Dad called. "It's still dangerous!"

"I know!" I called back, not stopping. "I'll be fine!"

Obviously, my father was not quite as convinced as I was about my relative imperviousness to our collapsed house. He sprinted – as best he could, mind you – towards me and tried to hold me back with his good arm, but I just phased straight out of his grip.

"Sorry," I added, "But you're not going to stop me."

"What if you get hurt?" My father begged. I just shrugged and continued towards the wreckage; splintery wood lay stretched out everywhere in front of me, but it didn't mean much to someone who could turn themselves intangible. I thought about it for a few moments, still finding that recalling the command felt vaguely unnatural, and held the feeling.

Inside, obscured parts of the building still managed to burn on. Mostly my view was obstructed by plasterboard, wood and other sorts of debris, but after some relentless searching I heard the slightest of moans, and followed it. Right in the middle of the house, possibly the densest part, Julie lay wedged between the bed we had loaned her, several layers of plaster and bricks, and a small undiscovered spot-fire that insisted on burning its dear little heart out. Julie was, thankfully, conscious.

"Hey, it's Writer," I said. "Can you hear me?" Another moan, followed by a small dribble of blood leaking from the girl's mouth. "Wait, don't talk! Just stay put... I think I can get you out..."

Julie nodded the slightest of nods, and with that I wrapped my arms around her and lifted, doing my best with abilities I was still shaky with. She shuddered but couldn't bear to open her eyes or say anything, so I ignored the reaction and moved up, up through the debris and the weatherboards and the bits of roof. And then I was standing atop the rubble with her in my arms, weak and bleeding profusely. A few shouts later and she was taken by the paramedics and immediately placed in an ambulance.

I ambled back to my father. "You... were okay." He noted. Behind his back I noticed him holding something between his fingers – I stared at it until he decided to enlighten me as to what it was. "I found your notebook." He sighed, handing the charred thing over. "I hope you can at least read something from it."

There it was. Seven months of tireless work (it was a _big _notebook), reduced to blackened, ash-defiled paper. Desperately I searched through to find the faintest scratch of ink, something somewhere that made sense – but what wasn't burned all the way through was impossible to read anyway. I looked through the final pages hopelessly, before hanging my head and shoving the charred remains into one of my trench's huge pockets. For a moment, I wondered whether I cared about my life or my work more, then decided that perhaps that was a _bad _train of thought to travel.

"It's all gone." I stated, dismally. "I worked so hard... and now it's just been reduced to ash." It felt like losing a child, although I quickly realised that was a _dangerous _comparison to make. Especially after a day after today, and especially due to the expression on my father's face. A novel could always be rewritten, with time and effort although maybe it would never be the same. Mary, on the other hand, was totally and utterly irreplaceable.

"We have to get you to the hospital." Said Rick, seeming to come out of nowhere as he referred to my father's arm. "That looks... painful."

I nodded in agreement, despite my father's apparent reluctance. "I have to get out of here, too. I... people will start gawking, soon. I really don't want to be seen like this." And then I _did _disappear, much to my father's surprise. Rick almost seemed to be expecting it. "If anyone asks, I'm not even here." I mumbled.

Indeed, the firefighters seemed to act as if I'd gone to a whole different dimension, apparently more at-ease with the idea that the supernatural being who was pushing the reality boundaries was no longer among them.

Dad eventually left with Julie, after she was pronounced 'stable' by the paramedics. This was where I went wrong; had I known what followed would happen, I would've gone with him in a heartbeat. But I elected to stay behind and visit later, deciding that Rick's company was probably a better idea... at the time. A crowd formed and dispersed around the family home as the day went on, and when all the fire had been put out all that was left was a lonely, smoking heap in the middle of an otherwise nicely-manicured block.

Obscured from view and behind the wreck in my backyard, I finally reappeared, sitting on a collection of broken weatherboards. I didn't quite understand _why _I was staying, actually – perhaps it was a combination of resentment and broken nostalgia – but nonetheless I insisted on sitting there. Rick found a spot on the grass, and we looked at each other for a little while before looking away.

"I'm so sorry about your sister." Rick eventually said, cutting straight through the silence. "Maybe she played a lot of pranks on me, but... she was..."

"She was Mary." I finished, sullenly. "I mean... even if she was like me! But..." I stopped to choke momentarily, and decided to finish up there. "It's not fair."

"None of this is."

A few birds cheeped in the distance, blissfully oblivious to the day's events. As we sat in silence, the local stray cat even approached, giving me that curious look that animals were so good at. Beyond that, it didn't seem to care about my ghostly state, and rubbed its back against my trousers anyway. I smiled softly and stroked its mangy fur, and it meowed happily in response. Didn't cats hate the cold, though? Apparently, this one didn't.

"Looks like you made a friend," Rick pointed out. "Why d'you think it's so sociable?"

"I've fed it a few times in the past couple of weeks..." I mumbled, scratching it behind the ears. I soon found it jumping into my lap and curling up, apparently content to stay there as long as I was willing to sit. "It's never done this before."

"Cats like ghosts. Who'd have thought?"

I shrugged, and continued to stroke it. Just like any other living thing it seemed to emanate warmth of a kind that offset my cold interior, so I was quite happy to let it sit there for as long as it wanted. After a few minutes it yawned widely, and appeared to fall asleep.

"... Writer... what are you even going to do?" Rick asked, suddenly. "I mean... what's someone like you even _supposed _to do?"

"I don't know." I sighed, fishing around in my pocket for the ruined book. "I guess I'll rewrite my novel, since I lost it all..."

"Hah."

"What?"

"There are all sorts of things you could be thinking about," Rick begun. "Like, how you're going to live, or where you're going to stay, or what it's going to be like to exist for... I dunno, an eternity. And yet your book still takes precedence – you really _are _obsessed."

"Well, it's the only thing I know I'll always want to do." I reasoned, but Rick's lips had curled into a very wry, knowing smile.

"Ghost Writer." He said. "That's what you are."

"Not even funny." I insisted, but Rick didn't seem to care. In the end we were both chuckling strangely, as if not nearly as worried or distraught about the situation as we ought to have been. "Fine, if I'm the Ghost Writer then when you die you have to be the Ghost Editor-"

"That was lame." Rick interjected. I continued anyway.

"-Because you're the only damn person around here who can speak a lick of English, Mr. Grammar Nazi."

"You're a Grammar Nazi as well!" Rick countered.

"Yeah, but I'm not editor material, so you get the job. I claim your soul."

"I thought we already owned each other's souls... hey, does that mean I can keep you in-"

"You are _not _keeping me in a bottle!" I rallied, then became indignant. "I wouldn't fit, anyway."

"Wanna bet?"

"_No_!"

The cat screeched at my joking protest – or, I thought it did, anyhow. After leaping straight off my lap, a strange flash of light seemed to be protruding out of the backyard fence. I stared at it as it opened into a circle and swirled with green, until eventually Rick caught on and looked as well.

"The hell is that thing?!" exclaimed Rick, jumping to his feet and immediately tripping backwards. "It looks like a portal... Writer, why is there a portal in your backyard?"

"How the heck should I know?" I countered. "I don't like this. Let's not get any closer."

"Hey, no arguments there!"

I took a few steps backwards, and Rick followed. For some reason it felt like I was oddly, magnetically attracted to the thing, which only prompted me to back away further. Unfortunately, that feeling only grew, and being as light as I was I was sadly lacking in weight to bolt myself to the ground. For a time I fought against it, but the pull became too great and I found myself swept from my feet, yelling for help. Rick caught me, barely.

"Don't let go!" He commanded, pulling back. At first it seemed to be successful; Rick himself wasn't at all affected and it wasn't as if I was difficult to drag away. Unfortunately, the portal apparently didn't like our protest too much; it redoubled its efforts to pull me in, eventually to the point where Rick was getting dragged along with me.

"I have no bloody _intention _of letting go!" I screamed back, trying to use my free hand to claw up Rick's arm. He grabbed onto that thin little tree Mary had planted in the backyard last year for support, but something as small as that was nothing compared to the immense power of the portal.

Eventually, I realised this wasn't going to work. If I didn't let go, Rick was going to be dragged in with me – and I didn't know where it led to, whether it was some sort of alternate universe or another dimension. Maybe, even... a type of afterlife. Whatever it was, it was trying to pull _me _in, not him. He didn't belong there...

Don't get me wrong. I was scared – maybe even more frightened than I'd ever been in my entire life. But it didn't seem fair to allow Rick the same fate when he didn't have to go through with it.

"I'll find some way back!" I screamed. He made a confused expression, before horrified enlightenment overcame his face.

"Don't you dare, Writer!" he screamed back. "Don't you even think about it!"

But it was too late. Unable to release my hand from his grip, I turned it intangible and slid away instead. Away from the real world, away from my remaining family, and away from Rick.

The look of betrayal on his face was second to none.


	4. When a Glimmer of Hope Was Found

**Author's Note  
**Yeah, I guess this was kind of a long time coming. For anyone still following, thanks! To anyone who just read the rest of this now... well, thanks, again! Feels nice to have this tied up and complete with a bow on top, hahah.

* * *

**The Origin of the Ghost Writer  
**A fanfic by Pseudinymous

~** 4** ~  
_- When a Glimmer of Hope Was Found -_

* * *

What greeted my eyes on the other side of that portal was nothing like I'd ever seen before; a world of swirling green, of thick, chlorinated-smelling air, of floating islands with absolutely _no _ground. Horrified, I stared downwards.

… Or maybe, I contemplated, it wasn't even down.

But the portal was still open. I was drifting away from it, sure, but it was still definitely there. A cool burning feeling tingled through my hand when I attempted to touch it, but I found I could go no further; the pull on the other side was so intense that I'd been quite effectively trapped.

"… Rick?!" I called. "Can you hear me?"

The swirls became disturbed. Through them popped a head and eventually a quarter of Rick's torso, his eyes staring down wildly at the infinite abyss.

"Bit of a sight, isn't it?" I mumbled, joining in. "… I think I might be stuck here."

"But not forever, right?" Rick queried. "I mean, you'll be able to get out again some other way… won't you?"

"… I really don't know." I mumbled back, honestly.

For a moment or two I took to floating around the portal, trying to figure out or at least _comprehend _some part of how it operated, and whether there might be a way to make it throw me back into the normal world I was so fond of. But it was a 'natural' phenomenon – not like any human made device that could be altered by twisting knobs and fiddling with buttons. Rick even tried to pull me back through, but it was met with extremely limited success.

"I'm not leaving you in here on your own!" Rick protested, stubbornly. I looked down again at the non-existent floor, and raised an eyebrow.

"Aaaand I'm not too sure that's the most brilliant of ideas." I rallied. "I don't think that down has an end… and you can't float."

"I don't care! What if you hold onto me?"

We were interrupted, however, by the interjection of an unknown voice. "Hey!" it called. "What's a human doing sticking his head halfway through a portal? That's more than one kind of dangerous, you know!"

I swivelled around, eyes meeting none other than another of my own 'species'. He was extremely neat-looking, and dressed in pinstripe attire that might not have been out of place somewhere in the 1920s. All he did was look indignant towards Rick and I's quite impolite gaping.

"What, have you never seen a ghost before?" he countered, examining me over the top of his rimmed glasses. "You can't go wandering around the Ghost Zone with a face like that."

"The '_Ghost Zone_'?" Rick mouthed, and I shrugged with just as much of a baffled expression as he was wearing. The ghost appeared to be analysing us, steadily.

"Well… the point is, a human could never survive here. So you ought to get on with it and remove yourself from that portal before it closes and splits you in half."

Rick followed that instruction to the letter, although you could still see his shadow and hear a muffled, blurry kind of voice on the other side. I tried to detect what he was sayin – something about 'coming to get you someday'. And then, as if the portal had only been open to allow Rick's presence, it closed just as quickly as it'd opened. For a few moments I scramble futilely at the point it had once occupied, but now it was all regular space. Or… as regular as the space in here actually _was_, anyway…

"You have that confused, disappointed look. Were you expecting something different?"

"I… well, no. But-"

"'But' doesn't matter." The ghost huffed. "You're stuck here, so go find yourself a place to live and get on with it."

I blinked. The advice was bland and a little startling, but it certainly couldn't be construed as impractical. By then the ghost was already beginning to go on its way, to… wherever it was going.

"… Hey, I don't know this place," I called, helplessly. "Can I tag along with you for a little while?"

"I haven't the time for freeloaders." Said the ghost, altogether too simply, before bustling off in a random direction. _Haven't the time?_ I thought. _Shouldn't ghosts have all the time they could ever ask for?_

Apparently not. Or, the ghost just didn't feel like helping me, which was probably a much more likely explanation. Nonetheless, I took his cold suggestion and began to wander haphazardly through the green infinities.

Other ghosts resided here, too – ones that looked like humans and others that looked like terrifying monsters. In fact, I was almost definitely one of the _least _frightening varieties around anywhere; sharpened teeth and pointed ears were nothing when compared with gigantic claws and ominous-looking staves. No one even looked twice at me, however. I was just another pathetic weakling that deserved little to no attention, and honestly, I liked it that way. It felt a lot safer, somehow, than being big and threatening-looking…

I'm not sure how long I wandered for. The passage of time didn't seem to be travelling through my head correctly; what could have been minutes might just as easily have been hours – the 'Ghost Zone', as it had been called, was bizarre. Puzzled and somewhat in despair, I straightened my glasses.

And then it was in front of me – an enormous, ancient stone building. Towering were its pillars and majestic were its stone-carved lions; it was a sight to behold, if there ever was one, and most importantly of all it was a _library_.

In such a frightening place like this, a library was the last thing I'd ever expected. Wary but curious, I flew over to the enormous, ornate wooden doors and, with a deep breath, knocked. The door cam ajar and no one answered, no one at all. "Hello?" I tried. "Is… anyone in here?"

Apparently not.

In hindsight maybe walking into a strange place that might have been owned by someone else wasn't the brightest of ideas – but I couldn't help it. It was a _library_, something I hadn't even thought about ever seeing again. Inside were hundreds of columns and circular rooms filled with books, all leading off the main room on the side of the building. The inside was wider than the outside was wide and taller than the outside was tall, protesting against belief but nonetheless demanding acknowledgement. Maybe this was my version, if a very deserted one, of _heaven_.

And it was all completely deserted.

"Hello?" I tried again, wandering around the main room. It seemed uninhabited; a thick layer of dust was on everything I touched and the air was stagnant and smelling stale. In the middle of the room, however, lay a pristine glowing keyboard made from what appeared to be glass. It was circular and had room for a user in the middle, along with a number of display monitors.

Not even the slightest bit of filth violated this immaculate surface, as if it repelled anything that touched it. Intrigued, I stepped forth and felt the smooth, glassy exterior – it was clean, beautiful, and seemed to radiate an unknown type of energy. I found myself smitten to this angelic object, regardless of the fact that I didn't own it.

Laying on top of one of the monitors was an incredibly dusty old note. I picked it up and scanned it for a moment.

_To whom it may concern,_

_The time has come for me to leave. Something of enormous urgency has come up and forced me to part with my beloved keyboard and library, even without anyone to entrust them to. So they are all alone, protected only by the wards I have placed upon this space; the very fact you were able to get in – if anyone is able to enter at all – means that you are not one that wishes to bring harm. One day in the very distant future, I shall return._

_Both the keyboard and the library were of my own creation, one built to protect the other. The former is in fact an extremely rare, possibly unique artefact; a quantum keyboard capable of bending reality to the writer's will, while the later I built myself; a library capable of copying and storing every story ever penned, complete or otherwise._

_Since you were able to enter, I'll entrust these to you until the day I get back. Do not allow them to fall into ill hands; the keyboard is capable of replicating itself upon its own destruction, so if necessary __**destroy it**__before surrendering it to such a person. Please do not underestimate its power – the library may be invisible to those who seek devastation, but the keyboard itself is compromised slightly by its own time frame. You may need to actively use it, at some stage, to fend off intruders._

_It would please me if you were to act in a benevolent and respectful manner. Hopefully, we shall have the fortune to meet someday._

The letter ended there. My eyes darted all over the parchment hoping to find some sort of name, or anything that might indicate something about who this person was… but there wasn't anything else. It didn't even have a date on it. Another haphazard look at the keyboard later, and I found myself ducking under it and inside the glassy ring. Was there an on button somewhere…?

No, apparently it liked to start all by itself.

The quantum keyboard was split into two sections; one labelled _Merge_, and the other _Fiction_. Tentatively, I pressed the _A _key under _Fiction_, which immediately popped up on the corresponding screen. Being born in the time I was, screens other than televisions were completely foreign to me, particularly ones that actively changed to your whim. It was a lot like using a typewriter where you could actually erase theerrors, although the keyboard under _Merge _had no backspace button. Now wasn't _that _interesting…

And then I remembered her; Mary, in all her beautiful glory, glossy black hair with a mischievous, playful smile. My sister the painter, nowhere to be found…

I approached the _Merge_ keyboard, a desperate gleam in my eyes. I had only one goal in mind, and typed the sentence that maybe wouldn't fix everything, but would fix just enough to enable me to be happy again. For a few seconds, it began to process the command.

_Error: Entity definition not found._

* * *

No doubt, the library has been an incredible place to… well, maybe not so much live as _exist_. I can't exactly say that I haven't enjoyed my time here, and I suppose once I got over the shock of being a ghost and being forced to inhabit a place filled to the brim with all sorts of creatively frightening creatures, it wasn't so bad.

That doesn't mean I don't still yearn for home, though. By now I've been here even longer than I was ever alive, but I still look at those old times fondly and want them back. Only some of my mind had gripes within the topic of fitting in; to be honest I don't really care about that, I could probably get around quite happily while cloaked in invisibility. The real problem laid within _getting _there.

About two decades after I arrived, I finally figured out how to use the keyboard to create stable portals to the real world, ones that I could travel through freely, ones that were open only to me. Where they opened up was a completely different story, though; target location was horribly skewed in the current model, and had landed me in Antarctica, Chile, and what I can only presume was somewhere in Africa.

After Africa, I stopped.

I knew I could probably fix the aim if I really tried, but… by that time it had been over two decades since I'd seen any of my family or friends. They'd probably moved on long ago, even if I, perhaps in more of an obsessive manner than anything else, never really had. Despite having told Rick that I'd find a way back, someday…

It's been 29 years now. Time flows strangely here, but I used the keyboard to make a clock and calendar that synched properly to the real world – it's the only way I'd ever be able to tell. Either way, 29 years is still a long time in a place that changes relatively little. I guess I typed this out as a method to sort my own thoughts; I woke this morning feeling somewhat depressed and there's only ever been one reason as to why.

I'm at the end now, and I don't really feel a whole lot better. Maybe I'll finally do something about this dismay.

Maybe tomorrow, or even today…


End file.
